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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764813">Danse Macabre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/atriums/pseuds/atriums'>atriums</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fisting, Blend of ABVH and TVD mythos, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Bottom Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Cockwarming, M/M, Major character dies but also not really, Rimming, These tags look bad but they're vampires OK, Top Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Vampire Sex, autassassinophilia, but only mentioned at the end, murderfucking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:02:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/atriums/pseuds/atriums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Slip through the marigolds and please our damaged souls</i>.</p><p>Written for a friend. In which I do entirely too much world building as a build up to R76 murderfucking as vampires.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Danse Macabre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is a bit much for a feeding, isn’t it?” Gabriel Reyes clicks his tongue and shoots a reproachful gaze to the woman at his side. His Mother, though how he loathed the term, rolled her bony shoulders with a nonchalance she’d had over four thousand years to perfect.</p><p>“It’s been fifty years or so since I’ve seen you, my Son,” she says, her voice still that same purr that rumbled in her chest with the barest hint of her true accent. “I thought the occasion deserved a feast proper.”</p><p>A feast for the two of them referred to the gruesome happenings on the other side of the window. Gabriel had learned a long, long time ago to not turn away, not when the <i>thing</i> inside of him scented the first bitter drop of death itself. Ignited a hunger he’d spent nearly the first half of his life thus far a servant to. And Mother, the bitch, she’d just laughed at the messes he made. Only when the evolution of human society made it difficult for her to clean up after her gluttonous Son did she step in and force him to learn to control it.</p><p>Of course, by then, she’d had to learn to control <i>herself</i>. Though maybe not quite control, rather she had to adjust her methods to procure sustenance for their unique hunger.</p><p>Gabriel’s jaw tenses. “You Compelled them,” he observes.</p><p>Mother shakes her head with a slow laugh. “They’re Acolytes, born and raised for this very moment. For me. For us. They are happy to die here and sustain us both in this glorious banquet. I didn’t need to do anything, and they were too eager to say yes.”</p><p>Acolytes. The word burns in the back of Gabriel's throat. Two hundred years ago when he'd been first bitten and turned, Mother had been considered a goddess among her people. A sect of clueless cattle had worshiped her as a personification of Death itself, and she'd demanded sacrifices to keep herself, and then a newborn Gabriel, fed. In his first year he'd lost control and tore apart one of her pathetic excuses for a temple, and to this day, the memory of the cries of delight as people begged for the son of their goddess to devour and destroy their souls, to feed off both their life essence and their death, haunted him.</p><p>Gabriel disagrees. “It’s a waste,” he says. There’s so much red everywhere, from splatters on the wall to puddles on the floor. His gums ache where his fangs rest, the instinct to feed rising with him, but trained behavior emerges victorious.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Mother snips reproachfully. “I assure you that my Coven is enjoying the spoils.”</p><p>Gabriel doesn't ask. The less he knows, the better. They'd gone their separate ways half a century ago with good reason, and his presence now was a mere formality in the hierarchy of vampire politics. The last place he wants to be is here, because fuck obligations, but this is the one thing she's asked of Gabriel in 50 years. She'd given him the chance to say no, but when you're a 4000-year-old vampire ascending to prestige, appearances were everything. Gabriel would have loved to snub Mother on this day, but in many ways this is for him, too.</p><p>He is Gabriel Reyes, son of one of the oldest known vampires and the Death Maiden herself, Moira O'Deorain. Her name is his name, her blood in him. He hates to admit it, but this is his ascension too.</p><p>Gabriel preferred the shadows of night to this blistering spotlight.</p><p>The spectacle takes a turn for the worst (best?) when one of the Acolytes pushes another into the floor, hands tangled in hair barely long enough to get a grip and smash their face into the floor until it was a mess of meat and bone and red. It’s then that Gabriel feels it like a light flickering out, the evanescent remnants of death exploding in the air like fireworks. Gabriel permits himself a taste, whets his appetite for later and does his best not to offend Moira.</p><p>Of the four of them, one Acolyte emerges as the victor in the midst of the bloodshed. Several purple bruises mottle their dark skin, and one of their eyes are red from a burst blood vessel. The other pupil is dilated so large the iris is nigh non-existent. Gabriel doesn’t need to run a diagnostic to know the Acolyte will die soon regardless of what happens next.</p><p>Moira saunters over to the door and opens it with a flourish, beckoning him inside. “That was hardly a proper meal,” she chastises. “This is our reunion. Celebrate.”</p><p>Moira doesn’t ask, and she isn’t polite. Gabriel knows an order when he sees one. Begrudgingly, he enters the room and regrets getting blood all over his new boots. They were a gift, and now sullied, he had some explaining he did not anticipate.</p><p>Death to Gabriel, and not to Moira, isn’t something to be considered beautiful. It’s another form of sustenance, another hunger he’s enslaved by and has to work twice as hard to control. Humans aren’t pretty and in death they’re even more hideous, nevermind the stench that inevitably follows.</p><p>But he is Gabriel, son of Death, and he hungers. And it would be impolite of him to refuse.</p><p>The Acolyte drops to their knees as soon as Moira and Gabriel enter, probably from some part eagerness and another part they just fucking can’t anymore. They present themselves so prettily, no doubt the way Moira has ingrained into her Acolytes. Filthy things, really. Gabriel hates them, hates them more than he hates most humans.</p><p>Death comes swift and without much ceremony, Gabriel reaching out with his fist to bury it into the warmth he once envied. The Acolyte’s bones collapse and life blood gushes around Gabriel’s fist, the heart but a fragile, fluttering thing in his meaty grasp. He doesn’t quite taste as he feeds, just closes his eyes and inhales. Imagines himself breathing in, and with it he takes in death and makes it part of him.</p><p>Moira once explained that there’s energy in everything, and death is the ultimate surrender of energy. If it isn’t for the stillness inside his chest, Gabriel might fathom himself the closest to alive he’s been in centuries.</p><p>When Gabriel opens his eyes, Moira’s fond stare is too much for him to bear. He jerks his fist back and discards the heart on the floor. She clicks her tongue at him.</p><p>“Is that not your favorite part anymore?” she questions, reproach firm in her voice.</p><p>Gabriel considers treading lightly, but decides against it. He’s accepted her ‘feast’, anything more at this point is her needling at him. “I’m plenty full at this point. Thank you.”</p><p>Moira turns her sharp nose away from him, a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Fine,” she snips. “I’ve had an outfit prepared for you that I’d like you to wear tonight.”</p><p>Gabriel doesn’t roll his eyes, he absolutely does fucking not thank you very much. Instead he spits out a polite acquiescence and leaves, returning to the room he’s been given for the duration of his stay. Of course Moira owns a fancy five-star hotel and uses it as her home base, no doubt serving as the perfect location to celebrate her ascension. He has zero complaints about the amenities and indulges heartily since none of it is coming out of his pocket.</p><p>The outfit chosen for him is modern in its simplicity, though it leans more towards Moira’s personal tastes than it does his own: something austere with chunks of solid, strong color. Thankfully Moira still respects Gabriel’s penchant for darker colors, and the blackness of the outfit is appreciated.</p><p>Despite being able to count the centuries he’s lived on one hand, Gabriel has never felt like he’s been able to establish himself as a vampire. Many know of him, he is Moira’s only childe, but Moira herself has been somewhat of a shadow on the outskirts of the undead society. But yet, after this night, Moira and even himself will most likely find themselves at the heart of vampire politics in a way he’s dreamt of in the past—in his nightmares.</p><p>Any vampire with a name has shown their presence, including some of those with names and stories that have been shared through hushed whispers for fear of the power they carry. One of those names is Amélie Lacroix, a vampire born around the time of the Christian Messiah Jesus Christ himself, and to whisper her name is to invoke pure sin itself. Though Moira has expressed a large amount of disdain for her, there is a begrudging amount of respect as well as she, too, is the head of her own unique bloodline.</p><p>Gabriel privately allows himself the thought that maybe their bloodlines could be considered cousins.</p><p>Unlike Moira, however, Amélie has sired forth many children in her bloodline. Anyone with a pretty face was guaranteed a spot in her collection, though Gabriel harbored reliable intel that Amélie has killed thrice as many children as she has permitted to live with the gift of her blood. They call her a succubus, and Gabriel keeps a wide berth around her because only two others have resisted her lure and lived to tell the tale.</p><p>As Gabriel sips at a flute filled with the blood of some human that fed only on citrus to achieve such a piquant flavor, he spies how Amélie glides to the woman of the night. Moira’s entrance is noble but quiet, nothing extreme like the smashing of gongs past or the flanking of blindly devoted Acolytes he expected to have to relive.</p><p>Interesting. It was once nigh unfathomable that Moira would forego her fanfare, but maybe old dogs can learn new tricks after all.</p><p>As expected, Gabriel takes his place at Moira’s side with a grimace. Beings are far too eager to come up and shake her hand, to introduce themselves and create a facade of themselves they want to sell. Gabriel isn’t surprised that human politicians have become so deeply entrenched in the pockets of vampirekin, but, well, he avoids this shit for a reason. It’s only unfortunate then that, because of his “gift”, that he can pick up on the miasmic cloud of suffering that hangs around these cruel excuses for human beings. They have caused the deaths of many, and this—this is a feast that he would have proudly devoured.</p><p>Their karmic records stained black from the gravity of their sins, they were often the sweetest in the rattling of their own deaths. Gabriel swallows as his hunger rises within him again, beckoned forth by the hint of a succulent dessert.</p><p>The other members of the vampire council are also present, and after shmoozing with Moira (as if she gives <i>anyone</i> her favor), the pathetic excuse for people make their ways through the rest of the council. Amélie enjoys herself overmuch with coquettish, simpering laughter and coy smiles—delicate hand on a portly man’s shoulder, and her eyes half-lid with promise as if she isn’t flanked by her two most well-known sires.</p><p>The man to her left is arguably her first childe (argued only because they will neither confirm nor deny this), and he has made a name for himself as her partner in crime—her absolute equal, Gérard Lacroix himself. Amélie has maybe a decade or two on him if Moira’s muttering holds any truth, and he too has earned himself a place on the vampire council. The second, however, evokes the strangest feeling in Gabriel’s chest. He’s beautiful, pale skin flushed pink from a fresh feeding, and blue eyes bright like the midday sky. Sometimes Gabriel likens the feeling to what he thinks his heartbeat felt like, but age has diminished the memories.</p><p>Jack Morrison, one of the youngest vampires in Amélie’s ever-expanding brood, stands almost a full head taller than even Gérard with back straight and shoulders pushed back. Born in the plainsland and molded by war, becoming a vampire has only served to amplify the astuteness at which he examines the room. He passes over Gabriel and his eyes settle on that of a dark skinned man. Though he is far from the center of the room, he carries the kind of weight that has him at the center of attention regardless. </p><p>After Amélie, few hesitate to approach Akande Ogundimu himself but somehow manage to continue with their intrepid dance. His ascension to the council is penultimate to Moira’s, and within such a short amount of has managed to usurp leadership from his predecessor—his own sire. The new regime of the vampire council may have had something to do with Moira’s abrupt change of heart after snubbing them for centuries.</p><p>The less Gabriel knows, the better.</p><p>The grandeur affair loses its appeal as the night grows young. A handful of brazen little things try their luck with Moira one too many times, enough so that the glimpse of her teeth with the promise of fangs has him wondering if it’s going to be the first time he will have to clean up one of her messes. She’s always been eager to indict more Acolytes into her bizarre cult of death, but Mister Park, if memory serves, has the kind of name that would give notice if he… engaged in a dramatic lifestyle change. </p><p>(He’s in too deep already.) </p><p>After the humans retire to their extravagant manors with bathrooms gilded in gold (which is, such a soft metal and such an <i>ugly</i> color), the vampires remain and the rites finally begin. The Council has been a unanimously recognized authority to vampire kind for centuries if not millennia, and their word is their bond. A tiny little thing swathed in various shades of purple and black stands center to them all, and the scent of her lifeblood and the echo of her pulsing heart pounds in Gabriel’s head. She holds a chalice in one hand an athame in the other, and one by one, each vampire takes turns bleeding themselves on the enchanted blade. Their undead blood mixes, black even beneath the bright lights of Moira’s ballroom, and the murmur of Gabriel’s mothertongue floods the room with the thick earthen scent of magick; a Witch of the Shadows binding their vows.</p><p>Moira’s Ascension is final as they pass the chalice around and sip from it. Her blood becomes their blood, and their blood hers. After the ceremony is complete, Gabriel is dismissed alongside a couple of other vampires who, just like him, are also children of their ascended makers. He catches sky blue eyes, nods once, and takes an elevator solo. Being around so many of his kind drains him, empties him until he’s but a void of impending death, so he pauses on floor thirty-one to procure a bag of blood marinating with marigolds because he was not a fan of the citrus, thank you very much. Even this will be too much for his plain tastes, but, well, he needs something before one or both of his hungers claw at his carefully maintained sanity. </p><p>Gabriel takes the elevator several more floors up and sips from his blood packet, cringing at the taste. Gods, is this what vampire high society is like? The urge to run is like spiders crawling on his skin. But the balm for his woes is so near he can already taste it, a primordial thing rising up inside of him and taking root in his chest where his cold, unbeating heart is frozen by death.</p><p>Inside of a room on the forty-seventh floor stands Jack Morrison, cummerbund removed and cufflinks undone. He acknowledges Gabriel with a glance and finishes undoing the buttons of his shirt to reveal the pale, pale skin beneath. Flush with life, Gabriel’s eyes trace the blue-green veins in his wrists, his arms, and the color high on his cheekbones. Jack’s mouth twists upwards as he folds his shirt atop his previous vestments. </p><p>Always so precise. </p><p>“I hate her,” is the first thing Gabriel says. </p><p>Jack replies, “I know.” He pauses, shoulders straight, and then peers at Gabriel through half-lid eyes. “How would you like me tonight?” </p><p><i>I want every last bit of you until there’s nothing left,</i> Gabriel thinks, and instead he manages, “Sit on the bed.” He moves forward, close enough to thumb at the corner of Jack’s pinkened mouth. “How much have you fed tonight?” </p><p>“Some,” Jack hums. <i>A little bit, a few hours ago, not enough,</i> Gabriel translates. He brings up his half-finished bag, every bloodstained petal of the marigolds seemingly glowing like the sun.</p><p>“Finish it,” Gabriel orders, because Jack will need it. Like a good boy, he sucks down mouthfuls at a time, head tilted back as if he knows Gabriel is mesmerized with the way his throat undulates as he swallows. One of his hands, bronze against Jack’s fair skin, outlines the shape and feels each and every single movement of Jack’s throat, until he tightens his grasp. Jack stutters around a mouthful of blood, unable to swallow, and a few droplets fall from his lips and down his chin. </p><p>Leaning in close to Jack’s face, cheek to cheek, Gabriel whispers, “It would be so easy to tear your head off your shoulders right now.” He tightens his grasp further, pale skin giving beneath blunt nails. “Where’s your fight, Jackie boy?” </p><p>Understanding lights up Jack’s eyes like a midsummer’s day sky, and in seconds, Gabriel is blinded by red as Jack spits into his face and shoves him back. Blood drips from his face down the front of his suit and he snarls, what a fucking waste. </p><p>“Insolent brat,” Gabriel snaps, wiping his face off. He reaches for Jack, tangling fingers into the wheat blond hair atop his head—just long enough for him to get a good grasp—and throws him to the floor. “Your bad manners just lost you bed privileges.” And by gods if the sight of blood in Jack’s hair, little spots of vermilion, doesn’t make Gabriel want to shove his dick down Jack’s throat.</p><p>“I’ll get them back by the end of the night,” Jack retorts confidently, and oh what a challenge. He grins up at Gabriel with bloodstained teeth, mouth dripping scarlet and he’s so fucking hot to see like this it hurts. Jack’s ability to get Gabriel harder than a rock is never to be underestimated, but nights like this when both are begging for it, his switch flips so quick the rapid shift of blood is dizzying. </p><p>Gabriel chooses not to acknowledge Jack’s words, shifting to remove his shirt and seat himself on the edge of the bed. If Jack wanted to be a snobby little thing, he could kneel on the floor where he belonged. “Take your pants off,” he orders. “This is your one chance to earn the bed back.” </p><p>Jack is younger than Gabriel by a century or two, and moments like this when his eagerness gets the better of him and he moves so fast his pants tear, and he won’t be wearing them out of the room. He catches himself, hands perched on Gabriel’s knees as he peers up at him. “You look like Adonis,” Jack murmurs, and his face flushes with his earnest admiration. He eyes the width of Gabriel’s torso, the shifting muscles beneath sunkissed skin and lines of old blood. “I can see how Moira drew an entire cult to her.” </p><p>“Shut up,” Gabriel grows, reaching out to backhand Jack with one hand and steady him with another. Both of them scent the moment Jack’s cheek tears and blood pours into his mouth, a soft sound building in the back of his throat. </p><p>“Again,” Jack pleads.</p><p>Gabriel obliges, his hand coming back stained with droplets of red. </p><p>“<i>Harder</i>,” Jack begs as his mouth drips onto the carpet from a fresh tear and the bone of his teeth show bright and pink. </p><p>This time, Gabriel refuses. He brushes his thumb along the blossoming bruise on Jack’s cheekbone with reverence. Such pale skin always gave way to such variety of color, and Gabriel loves tearing Jack down again and again to reshape him as the ultimate beauty. </p><p>“I think, instead, you can choke on my dick,” Gabriel says nonchalantly, brushing his hand through Jack’s hair. By the end of the night it’ll be more red than blond, and Gabriel twitches in his pants at the thought. </p><p>Jack makes another sound, this time like a wounded animal, reaching forward to tear at the fabric of Gabriel’s pants like a starved thing. Gabriel pushes him away, not hard enough to knock him over, but enough to get his point across. With the way Jack’s eyes darken, pupils blown, maybe he should have. Huh.</p><p>“No hands,” Gabriel tells him, undoing his pants himself and pulling his cock out. He fists himself loosely before bringing Jack close, a hand under his chin with just enough pressure to force Jack’s jaw to drop. Helpless to his own desires and as obedient as ever, Jack needs little prompting to push forward until the head of Gabriel’s dick is in the back of his throat. His mouth is warm, a rare delicacy from feeding, and Gabriel’s head drops back with a low rumble in his chest. Jack’s mouth is the best place he could ever be in this moment, so he holds him there and relishes in the feeling as pleasure sings through him. Sex has always been his one vice, but with Jack it’s his addiction. Anything that he asks, Jack will give because he gets just as much, if not more, from their encounters.</p><p>After several long minutes of holding Jack in place, Gabriel releases him with another press over the bruising on his face. It’ll heal over before long, so he wants to admire his work while he still can. Reaching for the remote, Gabriel flicks on the flat screen television and flips to a channel mindlessly. “Keep your head there,” he warns, undulating his hips until he feels Jack’s nose bump against his pubic bone. “Your mouth hasn’t been this warm in a while, I want to enjoy it.” </p><p>Jack’s eyes flash like he’s offended but Gabriel opts to ignore him. He tries to focus on the cartoon in the television, but finds his attention drifting so he flips the channel to something else. News is never worth watching for a vampire like him, though to be fair nothing is really worth watching when he’s got Jack’s pretty face buried in his lap. His mouth is wet and lovely, and Gabriel enjoys the contrast of alabaster and russet and red as it drips to the floor.</p><p>“You’re a mess,” Gabriel says after a while, nails digging into the back of Jack’s neck as he rolls his hips. So good, he bites back a moan. “You’re being so good, but I don’t think you’ve earned back the bed just yet.” He pushes the other vampire away and stands, coaxing Jack out of the chair and onto the floor. “Now clean it up; I don’t want to see the dry cleaning bill.”</p><p>Jack doesn’t like that. “Fuck you,” he hisses as Gabriel shoves his face onto the floor. When Jack doesn’t move, Gabriel arches an eyebrow, a hand strokes the length of him absently. Slow enough to keep him going without driving him absolutely mad. He could edge himself like this for hours to mess with Jack, a foot on his face keeping him shoved against the carpet like a fucking insect, but the goddamn Ascension took too much of their playtime away tonight. </p><p>Jack’s brows furrow as he laps at his own blood and saliva on the floor. His effort is lackluster and he rolls his eyes when he catches Gabriel looking at him, but two can play that game. Gabriel grins, teeth white as he leans over Jack. “You missed a spot.” He spits on the floor, and oh if that doesn’t set Jack’s eyes aflame like molten sapphires.</p><p>In the blink of an eye, Jack is up off the floor with his fangs bare and a growl reverberating in his chest. Ah, there he is, Gabriel’s grin nearly splits his face in half. Their strength cannot be prepared, and in a real fight Gabriel will always win, but sometimes it’s fun to lose themselves in the moment. Jack fights with a knowledge of the human body that belies his training from his days as a soldier, dirty and quick and meant to disarm. Gabriel has learned a few tricks here and there, and he could take Jack down quickly, but the fight is worth the high. Jack always gives as good as he gets. They fingerpaint in bruises and blood, leaving no inch of their bodies unmarked. Later, before these marks heal, Gabriel will admire them and their various shades of purple-green-yellows and lock these memories in the empty space inside his chest. Until then he commits the sight of Jack’s split skin as he opens up parts of himself to Gabriel and Gabriel only, shares all of his hidden corners and pale skin stained with rainbows of affection. The two of them end up intertwined on the floor, with Jack on his stomach and arm twisted behind his back. </p><p>“You don’t deserve to be fucked on a bed,” Gabriel tells him, mouth moving against the shell of his ear. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stay right here, just like this, for me. You’re going to be my fuckhole for me to do with as I please.” </p><p>Jack jerks underneath Gabriel, hips undulating, and he groans long and low. It won’t be that easy, though, and Gabriel grins savagely as he brings his palm down on the wide curve of Jack’s ass. His palm stings and the skin flushes from white to pink to the perfect rosy shade of red for their rainbow. He strikes once more—twice, thrice—and switches to the other side to draw up a match. Jack’s skin mottles so beautifully, speckles of red peppered in an ocean of art made by Gabriel’s own hands. He doesn’t count how many more times he spanks Jack but it has to be above the number ten if the way Jack is whimpering means anything. He burns fast and hard and always shoots off quick, his mind settling into the cozy little space inside of him where the only thing that matters is him and Gabriel, and the two of them coming together every way possible.</p><p>Around them the room, once pristine and austere, bears evidence splattered on the floors and walls. Jack’s strength wanes with each passing second, each second Gabriel bleeds him and takes his death as his own. Unlike those disgusting creatures he’s fed from in the past, Jack smells—not sweet—but not bitter. Something closer to savory, something decadent. Gabriel can’t stop himself from sampling a taste, tongue running along the knobs of Jack’s spine. Salt and blood and <i>want</i> combine on his palate.</p><p>“Hurry up already, old man,” Jack sighs beneath him, eyes fluttering shut. He adjusts himself, inching his knees further apart until Gabriel can get an eyeful of Jack’s furled opening. His skin is darker here but still rosy in the prettiest ways, and he twitches as Gabriel’s inaction drives Jack towards irritation. </p><p>Gabriel chuckles before licking a long stripe from Jack’s balls to his tailbone, dipping into the tiny little hole awaiting his dick. If only they’d had more time, he might have taken the time to see how much that little hole would stretch—if it could take Gabriel’s fist the way he’s had actual fucking dreams about before. </p><p>“Please, Gabriel,” Jack begs again. He pushes back onto Gabriel’s tongue but cries out when the sensation stops. Never one to deny Jack’s pretty little demands, he replaces his tongue with his thumb and presses slowly inside. The already minimal resistance goes away with a dollop of spit, so Gabriel presses as deep as he can and then back again, mimicking what is to come. Soon he has two thumbs prying Jack’s opening wide as he spits again, spreading the slick around and into each little wrinkle. Jack gurgles, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes through his mouth. </p><p>Always so sensitive.</p><p>Gabriel finally moves, a hand guiding himself towards Jack’s ass. He spits one last time to ease his way inside, and the way Jack’s breath catches in his throat and his body goes tight for a second, and then he <i>melts</i> is the absolute fucking best. Jack’s body gives way and Gabriel slides deep and comes to a stop before he pulls out half way and pushes in again. He starts slow, thighs clenching as he pushes forward into Jack’s pliant body that just takes and takes him so good. </p><p>Gabriel’s pleasure comes first and foremost, his hips picking up a rhythm that is brutal and relentless in its intensity. Warmth builds in his gut, first from the fresh feeding, and second from every wave of desire as it pulses through him. Every movement into Jack’s body, every pull out, Gabriel likens to the pulse of his heart that hasn’t beaten in centuries. Moments like this help him remember, bring him the closest to alive he’s ever been. </p><p>Jack cries out his pleasure, it builds up in his throat and then sinks into his chest with a guttural vibration that Gabriel feels. He traces the bumps of Jack’s spine again, digging blunt nails into skin and dragging down to trace lines of scarlet passion. The red bubbles up and over and makes for the prettiest paint for a perfect canvas. Gabriel grins something devilish as he writes his name between Jack’s shoulder blades because Jack is his, every last bit of him, and no one can ever take this away from him. </p><p>“Touch yourself,” Gabriel growls the order out, hips stuttering before he resumes thrusting deep into Jack. </p><p>“Yes,” Jack hisses, loosely fisting himself.</p><p>Another time, Gabriel thinks that maybe watching Jack bring himself to orgasm would be a treat. Thinks that watching his dick disappear into Jack’s hole between painted thighs, watching his ruddy little cock jerk in his hands with every movement, will be a night worth edging Jack back and forth. </p><p>But Gabriel likes the sight of his name on Jack’s back too might right now to change that. He reaches up, tangles fingers in red-painted blond hair, and jerks until he can taste the dried blood staining Jack’s cheek. They press together so nicely, Jack’s body arching like a bow and his head dropping back into Gabriel’s shoulder. His hand falls from Jack’s hair to his cheekbones, to his swollen mouth, the dip at the center of his chin, and then settles over his throat. He tightens his grasp, the tips of his fingers burning. Oh how he’d love to rip Jack’s throat out right now, but they’ve already made enough of a mess in a space that isn’t theirs. As Gabriel’s orgasm comes closer and closer, the hunger arises with each macabre thought. Each inhalation filled with the sweetness of blood. Every crimson kiss.</p><p>Jack’s throat bobs as he speaks. “Please,” he whispers. “Do it.”</p><p>That’s the last thing Gabriel needs before he’s coming hard, body coming to a slow while the pleasure explodes through him. He has just enough wherewithal to jerk his hand back, a sickening snap! echoing through the room as his release fills Jack’s body. And as Jack’s death fills him in return. It’s different from feeding on people, far from that bitter sickness and doesn’t have that stench that follows.</p><p>When Gabriel comes down, he holds Jack’s body close to him. It sags against him, limp and unmoving, until it lays still on the floor and Gabriel takes care to reset Jack’s head on his shoulders. Death has always looked so lovely on him.</p><p>In the coming moments, Gabriel takes great care of Jack and his body. He moves him to the bed, grabs a cloth to wipe off the blood from his face and off his chest, though he opts to leave his name on Jack’s back as long as he can. Maybe Jack will appreciate it whenever he comes to. Then he draws the blinds and sets the windows to block out the sun so that neither of them spontaneously combust and scare the housekeepers more than they strictly necessary. He also takes the liberty to order a live donor because Jack will be <i>famished</i>.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*        *        *</p>
</div>Later, when Gabriel has four fingers deep in Jack’s ass and is pushing his limits—“I’m going to add my thumb next, okay, baby?”—Moira reaches out with a scathing riposte regarding the state he’d left his hotel room in. As she goes on and on about having to tear up the carpets and rip out and re-plaster the walls, he finally gets his thumb inside next to all four fingers, and he grins.
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">A couple of notes about this fic (mostly because I did an absurd amount of world building and probably won’t revisit it, I’m garbage):</span>
</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Everything that happens in this fic is pre-negotiated and entirely consensual between Jack and Gabriel.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- The climax (heheh) of this fic is based entirely on something established about vampires from The Vampire Diaries: vampires can be “killed”, but because they are undead creatures they will recover within a few hours. This is often a plot device used to incapacitate a character, but in this fic, R76 murderfuck regularly for Gabriel to feed and you can’t stop me.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Gabriel is somewhere between 300 to 500 years old, while Jack isn’t quite 200 yet.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Gabriel’s Mother is none other than Moira herself, who is renowned for being one of the oldest vampires clocking in somewhere around 4000 years old. Gabriel is her only Childe. He inherited her unique ability to feed from death, which makes them a recognized bloodline. Not said in the fic (because there was already too much worldbuilding when this was supposed to be just smut for a friend), but I figure Moira was a necromancer as a human and the ability followed her, albeit twisted even further, into undeath.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Moira is not a good Mother. She has enjoyed over four millennia doing whatever she wants and is quite cruel, synonymous with her character in the game. Gabriel’s first century of undeath was very dark as she had not bothered to teach him control. However, as humanity grew and it became harder to hide Gabriel’s messes, she was forced to reign him in and teach him. Now in full control of himself, Gabriel hates her and last saw her 50 years prior to this fic. It was probably Akinjide Adeyemi, Akande’s Sire, that told Moira to get control of her spawn or he’d kill them both. Probably.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- In Moira’s many years, she elevated herself to a Goddess of Death and has her own church. Though membership has fallen from its height, she still has devoted acolytes that are raised to believe they are meant to feed her in an ultimate battle royale style fight.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Jack was turned by none other than Amelie Lacroix. While most of the content in this fic is my own creation, the concept of bloodlines and Amelie specifically were concepts pulled from Anita Blake Vampire Hunter universe—Amelie is a parallel of Belle Morte. Bella’s bloodline fed from lust/sex (referred to as the <i>ardeur</i>) and most vampires she created were considered succubi/incubi. One vampire could make anyone orgasm from bite alone. Another purportedly had a dick six inches <i>wide</i>.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">- Though it is heavily implied, I will state it here: the only two vampires to resist Amelie’s lure have been Moira herself and Jack. I headcanon Moira as asexual so it just makes sense to me that she can resist an undead succubus. And Jack, of course, hates Amelie as much as Gabriel hates Moira.</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">For Abbey, a King that deserves something better than this garbage. Thank you for taking the time to read this fic! ♥</span></p></blockquote></div></div>
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